


Mars

by sofia_gigante



Series: Blade Runner and Point Man [8]
Category: Blade Runner (1982), Blade Runner (Movies), Inception (2010)
Genre: AU, Angst, BAMF Arthur, Blade Runner AU, Blade Runner! Eames, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Relationship(s), dream share
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 10:49:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10188233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sofia_gigante/pseuds/sofia_gigante
Summary: "I’m going to build a dream of Mars for you, Eames. So you can see it at least once."Arthur takes Eames to Mars the only way he can, but the dream takes a disturbing turn.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my betas Sibilant and Castillon for their amazing work!
> 
> Some of the inspiration for Arthur’s military background came from the film _Soldier_ (1998), which is loosely set in the same canon as _Blade Runner_ , according to the filmmakers.
> 
> At this point in the story, I highly recommend new readers start at the [beginning of the series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/516802) to know what's going on here.

Twelve hours. Less than twelve hours.

Eames knew he should sleep, but he couldn’t. Not with Arthur’s lean body curled next to his, utterly relaxed and breathing deeply. Arthur had finally succumbed to sleep a couple of hours before, after another bout of hot, sweaty, grinding sex. Eames couldn’t remember the last time in his life he’d ever felt so calm, so sated, so…so whole. He didn’t want to miss a second of it.

Besides, there would be plenty of time for sleep after 3:30 p.m. today.

He resisted the urge to pull Arthur closer, lest he wake him. He needed his rest. Space travel was no joke, even on board a luxury personnel carrier like Fischer-Morrow’s. Not that Eames would ever know.

Eames pushed hard against the wave of melancholy threatening his fragile peace. _Don’t think about the future. There is no future. There is no past. There is only now, only Arthur._

He focused instead on Arthur’s left forearm, which was resting by his face at just the right angle to show off his tattoos. They weren’t drawings, they were words, carefully etched in his flesh in small, blocky print: Tanhauser Gate 2014, Antares Maelstrom War 2015, Nibian Moon Campaign 2016, and so on. Eames counted eight in total. He didn’t need to ask Arthur to know what they were—a military service record. Eames studied the last one, Shoulder of Orion 2017, and wondered just what had happened there that had made Arthur defect. Arthur hadn’t said as much, but Eames was a detective—anyone who stole a valuable piece of military tech like a PASIV wasn’t someone who left with an honorable discharge. Perhaps, someday, Arthur would trust him enough to tell him the whole story…

_Yeah. If that trust is built in the next twelve hours._

As if hearing his own name in Eames’ thoughts, Arthur stirred. Eames held his breath, but it was too late. Arthur’s dark eyes blinked open, and he made a sleepy little groan in the back of his throat.

“Did I fall asleep?” Arthur asked.

“For a bit.” Eames gave into the temptation to run his knuckle alongside Arthur’s face. “Get some more sleep if you can.”

“Nuh uh.” Arthur yawned, sitting up a bit more in the bed. “Not going to waste my time with you by sleeping.”

Eames smiled, warmth spreading through him. Even so, he felt a pang of guilt. “It’s the middle of the night, love. What are we going to do? I’m not going to be up for another round for another few hours.”

Arthur tapped his lip with his finger, thinking. He gave a short nod, as if coming to a decision. “You want to see Mars?”

Eames’ brow furrowed in confusion. “You got a vid or something?”

“No. Something better.” Arthur climbed out of bed and slid into his briefs and a pair of pajama pants that he’d draped on the back of a chair. Padding over to the bank of computers, he pulled out the PASIV he’d tucked between a cubic monitor and the Vid Phōn.

“Wait, you want me to use that thing?”

“Sure. It’s easy. I’ll be with you.”

A jolt of excitement cut through his caution. “We’re going to share a dream together?”

“That’s the plan. I’m going to build a dream of Mars for you, Eames. So you can see it at least once.”

Eames’ throat was suddenly tight, his eyes uncomfortably hot. He blinked rapidly, trying to chase away the heat.

“You told me you’d never seen the surface,” Eames said, hating how raspy his voice sounded.

“I haven’t. I’m going to show you how Mars looks for me. It’s…it’s the best I can do.”

Eames couldn’t take it anymore. He reached out to Arthur, needing to feel him, his solidness, his warmth while he still could. Arthur let himself be pulled back to the bed, back to Eames, and kissed him long and firm. Finally, he gently extracted himself, and returned to the PASIV.

Eames lit up a cigarette as he watched Arthur prep the machine. Arthur wrinkled his nose and shot Eames a dirty look, but said nothing. By the time Eames had smoked enough that he felt satisfied, Arthur was ready. Eames stubbed out the remains of the cigarette, and Arthur took his arm. He swabbed down the inside of Eames’ wrist first.

“You’re not afraid of needles, are you?” Arthur asked. Eames shook his head, and Arthur slid the needle into the tender skin. Eames only flinched a little at the discomfort. Arthur taped it down, then repeated the procedure on himself. Once they were both prepped, Arthur lay down beside Eames on the bed with the machine between them.

“So, how’s this work?” Eames asked, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt.

“Once I start the machine, the Somnacin will travel down these tubes and enter our bloodstreams. As soon as it hits us, we’ll fall asleep. Since this is your first trip, I just want you to relax. I’ll do the work building the dream around us.”

“How…how is it possible?” Eames asked. “That we’ll be in the same dream together?”

“You’ll see.” Arthur gave him a boyish smile. He really loved doing this. It put Eames a bit more at ease. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Eames said.

Arthur pressed the circular button at the center of the machine, and Eames watched as the fluid traveled up the clear tubes towards them. It was much, much faster than in his dream, and he began to have second thoughts.

Arthur’s hand found his. His fingers threaded through Eames’ and held on tightly. Eames squeezed back, until a wave of sleep slid over him as easily as a warm blanket.

It didn’t take long at all. A few seconds, perhaps, and Eames found himself standing in a wide open room. An indoor plaza, he guessed,  with a high ceiling, the architecture all clean, geometric lines. There was a twisting, abstract sculpture carved from red stone in the center of the place, surrounded by a pool of shallow water. There were curving benches and spindly tables, and Eames wondered where all the people were. Space this big should be filled, shouldn’t it?

His concern dimmed when he turned and saw Arthur, sitting in front of a huge window spanning the length of the plaza. The glass was smoky grey, so it was hard to see through it, but as Eames approached it, his heart began to beat faster. With each step he could see more and more outside—first the bare, rocky earth, then craggy little hills, then, finally, the wide expanse of the Martian landscape as it spread out to the horizon.

“Oh wow,” Eames whispered. He pressed his fingers to the glass, feeling like a child looking through a toy shop window. He wanted to go out there, to feel the silt of the dirt between his fingers, the dry, cold air against his skin. It was foolish, he knew—a few minutes in that low-pressure atmosphere would kill him—but he was so giddy he didn’t care. He was dreaming, after all. He could want whatever he wanted.

“This is the plaza outside the spaceport for the east wing of the colony,” Arthur explained. “I got to spend a few hours here my first day. The clouded glass protects the building from the UV light, so, yeah, I’ve never seen the Martian sky.”

“It’s beautiful.” Eames studied the desert before him, the wide, sweeping plains between dark mountains. It looked so bare, so open. So free.

“This is strange,” Arthur said quietly from behind Eames. “There’s no one here.”

“Of course there isn’t,” Eames said. “It’s crazy enough that we’re both here in the same dream.”

“No. This…this is weird. A public space like this, your mind should be filling it in with background people. Subconscious projections.”

“I’ve never been here before. I didn’t know it was a public space until you told me.” Eames was too busy marveling at the Martian landscape to worry too much. “It’s actually really nice, just being the two of us.”

Arthur, however, was looking anything but pleased. “God, stupid, stupid…”

“What?” Eames finally turned away from the view. “Arthur, mate, it’s okay. It’s just a dream, right?”

“The Somnacin. If you have neurological problems…”

“You think your dream-drug is messing with my mind?” A dull lance of panic cut through Eames’ excitement.

“I don’t know.” Arthur gave Eames a worried look.

“Well, how long until it wears off?”

“I set the timer for thirty seconds. It’ll feel like we’re down here for half an hour.”

“That’s not that bad,” Eames tried to reassure Arthur. “Look, I’ve taken plenty of meds before, drank plenty of liquor, it’s never affected me abnormally.”

“Somnacin’s different.” Arthur looked around the room, as if waiting for someone to appear. “Listen, I need you to take a walk with me.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere.” Arthur nodded his head across the plaza, towards a series of hexagonal doors labeled _elevators_. “How about we try my neighborhood. Level 10.”

“Sure.” He hated how nervous Arthur seemed, how this small gesture of kindness was turning into yet another ordeal. Why couldn’t anything just work for Eames how it was supposed to?

Eames followed Arthur to the elevators, where the center door parted immediately. There was no one inside waiting to disembark, so they stepped inside. Arthur punched the button for 10, and Eames noted how there were still four stories further down they could travel. As the elevator descended, Arthur turned to Eames.

“Level ten is one of the more crowded districts in the colonies. All sorts of people—gamblers, militia, vendors, rent boys, call girls. It’s where you go to find a good time, or trouble.”

“Sounds cozy,” Eames said with an arch of his eyebrow.

“It’s cheap.” Arthur tapped his foot nervously, his eyes watching the numbers as they descended. When the number 10 lit up, Eames saw Arthur hold his breath.

The door slid open onto an empty street. It was definitely a party district—with blinking neon signs for casinos, strip clubs, bars, and pawn shops—but it was as empty as the Oakland street they’d walked the night before.

“No. No, no, no,” Arthur whispered. He hurried out of the elevator, looking around frantically.

“I’m sorry?” Eames apologized weakly. He was more annoyed than concerned. Why were they wasting their precious little time here skulking around an empty street when they could be enjoying the view above of the Martian landscape?

“This is bad.” Arthur came back to Eames and palmed his face in both hands. He studied his eyes. “How do you feel? Headache? Tired?”

“Yeah, I’m tired of you freaking out over nothing!” Eames pulled away. “Look, I’m sorry my fucked up brain is getting in the way of your plans yet again, but—”

“Quiet!” Arthur snapped.

Eames snapped his mouth shut, glaring at Arthur, until he caught the sound that had first drawn his attention. It sounded like someone shouting, but from either a great distance or from inside a building.

“Come on,” Arthur said, heading in the direction of the noise. Eames had little choice but to follow him down the brightly-lit street.

They followed the sound for about a block, stopping every few seconds to make sure they were still going in the right direction. Eventually, they came to a white double door, almost like a hospital door.

“This isn’t like this on Mars,” Arthur said. He swallowed hard, and looked at Eames. “This is all you.”

The shouting began again. Eames put his hand on the handle, trying to make out the words, get some idea of what he was getting himself into. He couldn’t make anything out, though.

“Guess I’ll go first, then,” Eames said as he pulled open the door.

He’d expected a hospital lobby, or even a hallway. He didn’t expect to find Robert’s study, done in rich wood and gold accents. He remembered this room, from the few times he’d visited Robert in his own home. A fire flickered in the fireplace, and Robert stood in front of it, nursing a glass of brandy. He didn’t turn as Eames entered the room.

“I don’t care what you say,” he spat, “that is not him!”

Robert turned and pointed at him, directly at him. Eames looked behind himself to see if Robert was pointing to Arthur—but Arthur wasn’t behind him anymore. Neither was the door. No, Eames was by himself, standing against a large oil painting of Robert’s father.  

“We’re not done yet, Mr. Fischer,” a man in a white lab coat stepped into the firelight. He was young, his features soft, black hair curling around his worried face. He licked his lips nervously. “You said you wanted to see progress—”

“I don’t want progress! I want fucking results, Dr. Yusuf, or so help me God I will ship your parents to the Argentine Moons to spend the rest of their lives working in the mines!” Robert’s voice slurred in drunken anger.

Dr. Yusuf visibly paled and came over to Eames. He gently took his hand, and pulled him away, towards the door across the room. As they walked, Eames caught a reflection of himself in a large decorative mirror. He was wearing white scrubs, as if he’d just gotten out of the hospital, his hair shorn down to stubble. Was this…this after one of his surgeries? Is that why Eames couldn’t remember this?

“The memory transfer is being complicated by the trauma damage the original model sustained.” Dr. Yusuf’s voice shook. “But I promise you, we will have your results soon.”

“Get back to work, and take that…that _thing_ with you.”

Eames couldn’t breathe. His heart was hammering, his vision blurring. His entire body was shaking. He tried to speak, but his throat was sandpaper dry. He wanted to talk to Robert, ask him what was going on. He took a step towards him, and the entire scene vanished before him, leaving only a blank space.

He whipped around to see if Arthur had rematerialized, but there was only blank space behind him, too. Everything was gone, leaving a bright white expanse of nothingness.

“Arthur?” Eames called out. No response. He began walking back the way he thought they’d come, but it was hard to tell without any sort of landmark to guide him. “Arthur, where are you?”

Eames began to run, panic gripping at his heart. He was shaking again, badly, so badly he could barely move, and eventually he just stopped running, collapsing to his knees on the ground, gasping. “Oh God, what’s happening to me?”

He closed his eyes, fighting against the blankness, the terror, the feeling that at any second he would simply stop breathing, cease to exist—

“Eames!”

Eames gasped awake, Arthur’s face hovering inches over his.

“You’re awake!” Arthur cried out in relief. He palmed Eames’ face, smoothing over his sweaty forehead. “God, I was afraid you weren’t going to wake up from that! Are you all right?”

No. Eames was very much not all right. He was shaking and scared and confused out of his mind.

“What happened?” Eames asked.

“I don’t know,” Arthur said. “You went through that door and you just disappeared. There was nothing in there but an empty nightclub when I tried to follow you. I kept looking, and I let the dream time out, hoping you’d show back up. You were out for almost five minutes after I woke up.”

“So you didn’t see any of that?” Eames asked.

“See what?”

“I…” The words lodged in Eames’ throat, the confusion too much for him to bear. “I don’t know.”

“Jesus, you look like you’re about to shake out of your skin,” Arthur said. “You’re freezing again.”

“Sh-shower,” Eames stuttered. “Get me into the shower.”

Arthur helped pull Eames to his feet, and supported him all the way back to the bathroom. As he ran the shower to warm it up, he helped Eames strip. Eames let Arthur help him, too focused on staying upright and conscious. God, what the fuck had that Somna-something stuff done to him?

The warm spray of the water helped wake him some, and he reclined against the wall for balance.

“Nuh uh. Sit down,” Arthur said, and guided him to sit on the tiles lining the bottom of the shower.

Eames didn’t protest. He sat in the shower, letting the water course over him, feeling utterly wretched. Arthur kept the shower door open, and sat on the toilet, within arm’s reach of Eames.

God, this was like a bad hangover coupled with the worst case of his nerves ever. He tried to steady his breathing, calm himself, but it was damn hard with those strange visions of Robert—and himself—running through his mind.

“You don’t have to tell me what you saw, if you don’t want to,” Arthur said.

“I don’t even know if I can. That…that was…”

“I’m sorry. I should have known better. I didn’t even think about your condition—”

“Hey. I didn’t protest, did I?” Eames looked up, and gave Arthur a small, reassuring smile. “And until things got weird, I had a hell of a time.”

Arthur returned the smile, but it didn’t touch his eyes. Eames reached up and ran his wet fingers across Arthur’s cheek.

“I’m serious,” he said, “you gave me the only thing I’ve ever wanted in this whole miserable life of mine—to see the surface of Mars. Thank you. I couldn’t ask for a better parting gift.”

Arthur’s eyes glistened, and he swallowed hard. He opened his mouth to reply, when the chirping of the Vid Phōn pulled his attention away. “God damn it.”

“Ariadne?” Eames said.

“Why’s she calling at four in the morning Earth time? I’ll be right back,” Arthur promised. Before he left, he pressed a kiss to the top of Eames’ head. Then he left the bathroom, leaving the door cracked open.

Eames closed his eyes and dropped his head onto his arms. He couldn’t hear the conversation between Arthur and Ariadne over the hiss of the shower, but something about her tone told Eames that there was yet more bad news. Maybe there were more Proculus thugs on their way, or maybe there was another complication with the job. Either way, Eames should get out there, shouldn’t he?

He had just pulled himself to a standing position when Arthur pushed the bathroom door open. His face was ashen. Eames was about to ask what was wrong when Arthur pushed the door open all the way, so Eames could see the bright Vid Phōn screen with Ariadne’s face on it. His hands instinctively went to hide his nakedness.

“Hey! Mind shutting the do—”

Arthur slowly raised his arm. He was holding his gun.

“Arthur? What’s going on?”

“Shoot him!” Ariadne cried out. “Before he makes a move!”

“Wait, what?” Eames asked, confusion clouding his mind. “Arthur, put the gun down!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Arthur whispered, his voice hollow.

“Tell you what? I told you my bloody life story a few hours ago!” Eames felt more vulnerable than he ever had in his life. More than when he’d listened helplessly as Dom died by Mal’s hand. More than when he’d been laid up in a hospital bed for weeks. More even than when he’d been standing on that rain-slicked balcony, hiding from his pursuers. Standing at gunpoint, naked, in the shower, while on a Vid Phōn conference call was the epitome of vulnerable.

Arthur studied Eames hard, his dark eyes widening. “Jesus, he doesn’t know.”

“Know what?” Eames said.

Arthur stepped aside. At first Eames thought it was so Ariadne could get a better look at the scene, but then he saw the image filling the computer monitor beside the phone.

He knew that screen. He’d spent half his life looking at it. There was a format to replicant profiles, with their serial numbers, classifications, statistics, and photo in the upper left-hand corner. Between his years on the force and his work as a freelancer, he’d seen hundreds of replicant faces. Never, in his entire life, did he think that he’d ever see his own face there.

Replicant (M) Des: EAMES  
NEXUS 6 (MOD ALPHA) N6MBA528491  
Incept Date: 12 MAR., 2016  
Func: Blade Runner (Rep. Detect ONLY)  
Phys: LEV. C Ment: LEV. B

“Those weren’t dirty cops, those were real blade runners that came after him!” Ariadne said. “The warrant for his retirement is legal. Arthur, for God’s sake, take _it_ out before he kills you!”

Eames had to be still dreaming, or this had to be some weird hallucinatory side-effect of that compound Arthur had used on him. Because there was no, no way in hell that Eames was a…

_“Take that…that_ thing _with you.”_

Robert’s voice echoed in his mind from the dream-vision he’d had. It wasn’t a dream, was it? It was…it was a memory.

Horror blossomed in Eames’ mind even as denial struggled to keep his sanity intact.

No. No, no, no. It was a mistake. A lie. A filing error.

Eames stared down at his hands—his pale, shaking hands—watching as his fingers curled into involuntary fists.

_“Your…your nerves haven’t gotten worse? The doctors told you it was a degenerative condition—”_

Degenerative.

Jesus. He’d known. When Eames had spoken to him earlier, Robert had known.

He looked up from his hands to Arthur, as everything fell into place with the force of a hammer slamming into an anvil. “I think she’s right.”

Arthur’s eyes widened.

“It…it all makes sense. How…how Robert treated me, that, that vision I had...” His words died in a manic little laugh. He looked up from his hands, to Arthur, to the gun pointed at him. The last cruel joke of a cruel life. It was time. Time to finally reach the punchline.

“You know the rules, Arthur,” Eames said. “Shoot upon detection on Earth. Well, you’ve done it. You’ve detected me!”

Eames stepped out of the shower. He didn’t care that he was naked. What did it matter? He was a construct. A lie. A thing.

Arthur retrained the gun on him. “Eames, don’t—”

“What was it you said to me, Arthur? Back when we were pretending that you were the replicant?” Eames stepped towards Arthur slowly, hands out at his sides to show he meant Arthur no harm.  He would never hurt Arthur. “‘How about you, blade runner? Today a good day to die?’ Well, yeah. I think it finally is.”

“I mean it, Eames, stay back!” Arthur’s voice shook.

“Or what? You’ll shoot me? That’s exactly what needs to happen.” Eames sank down to his knees in front of Arthur. He didn’t think about how only a couple of hours before he’d been in this position for pleasure, to make Arthur happy, to show how much he cared. No. That was another Eames. Not him. Not him, not if he really was what he was most afraid of, what he was suddenly more sure of than anything in his whole life. He grabbed the barrel of Arthur’s gun and pulled it down to press against his forehead. “Do it! Do what I’ve done so many fucking times. Retire me!”

Time slowed to a crawl. Each heartbeat lasted an hour, each breath an eternity. His ears were filled with the rush of blood, the hiss of the shower, the rasp of Arthur’s labored breathing. Eames closed his eyes, centered himself.

_“At least I got to be happy with you for a little bit, Arthur,”_ he thought to himself, and smiled. Time to die.

Arthur snarled, and wrenched the gun off of Eames’ forehead. Eames’ eyes flew open in time to watch him slam the bathroom door, shutting out Ariadne, drowning out her terrified shouts. Arthur dropped to his knees in front of Eames and gathered him in his arms. Eames allowed himself, limp as a doll—that’s all he was, wasn’t he, just a fucking doll?—ignoring the pain as Arthur crushed him to his chest.

“I don’t care what you are, or what you think you are.” Arthur said into the crook of Eames’ neck. He pulled back, and grabbed Eames’ chin with his hand so he could look him in the face. “You’re not giving up that fucking easily, you hear me? That screen could be a fake, a plant—”

“It’s not fake. Not…not after what I saw in our dream. What you saw. I’m…I’m a…”

“You’re _Eames_.” The glimmer of hope in Arthur’s eyes refused to go out. “And I did not disobey Ariadne’s orders, steal a police car, save your life, and put up with your fucking smoking just to—to shoot you over some stupid law!”

Each of Arthur’s words struck him like a blow, chipping away at the cold wall of death building itself around Eames’ being. “You really hate my smoking that much?”

“I. Can’t. Stand. It,” Arthur said. “But I put up with it to be with to you.”

Eames finally let himself see Arthur, really see him—the determination sparking in his dark eyes. Jesus…he meant it. He really meant it.

“I’m not even a real human,” Eames said, his throat tightening in the wake of his admittance.

“More human than human, is what you said replicants are,” Arthur said, and palmed Eames’ cheek. “And you, Eames, are the most human human that I have ever met in my life.”

Arthur kissed Eames, gently, on the forehead, right where Eames had pressed the gun. Eames let him hold him, convincing himself that the wetness on his cheeks was just the water from the shower dripping down his face.


End file.
